


the crownless again shall be queen: outtakes

by thundersnowstorm



Series: rhaenys of the north [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epistolary, F/M, Historiography, Politics, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Warging, What-If, more tags to be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-12-25 23:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersnowstorm/pseuds/thundersnowstorm
Summary: Miscellaneous outtakes fromthe crownless again shall be queen.Chapter 3: who is the wolf and who is the moon“Warg. Skinchanger.” Rhaenys ran her fingers down the side of his face, trying to find some wolfish resemblance in him, but Robb was all blue eyes and broad features. Nothing like the wolf-headed corpse from her dreams, a thought she pushed away as soon as it came. No, this Robb was as alive and as human as they came.





	1. Rhaenys of the North: The Life and Times

**Author's Note:**

> I have a bunch of short deleted scenes, related drabbles, character studies, etc in this verse that I figured I might as well go ahead and publish. I don't have a set schedule or end date for publishing them, this is just to have somewhere to put them all.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Rhaenys of the North: The Life and Times_

By Maester Jeyne Flint

 

_Introduction: The Woman Behind the Northern Throne_

 

Rhaenys Targaryen's greatest historical achievement seems to be being confused for her ancestor and namesake. In history books, she is often glossed over in favor of her more famous husband and daughter, with perhaps a side note mentioning how her problems with childbirth gave the North its first queen regnant. 

In actuality, Rhaenys Targaryen was one of the most accomplished women of her era. Though considered a private and reserved woman by many of her contemporaries, she was as deeply involved in the governance of the North as her husband. She exchanged extensive correspondence with lords and ladies across Westeros, negotiating alliances while discussing art. She was a well-read woman, and her aptitude for sums proved a boon for the kingdoms finances. Politically, her ancestry allowed for good relations with the new Targaryen crown as well as the development of an unusual friendship between Dorne and the North that persists to the present day.

The story of Rhaenys began with tragedy. Following the Sack of King's Landing and the death of her entire immediate family, she was shunted off to her mother's family in Dorne, the sole princess of a fallen house. Her ancestry forever a threat to the new Baratheon rulers, she was betrothed to Robb Stark to prevent any potential uprisings in her name.  The two were married soon after his sixteenth nameday, meeting only days before the wedding. 

In one of the few surviving letters written by Robb Stark, he states "I may have won the battles, but without [Rhaenys], we would have lost the war". A complete stranger to the North, Rhaenys Targaryen had to learn a set of entirely new customs, gain the respect of the Northerners, manage Winterfell's household, and mediate internal conflict, all while her husband fought a war in the south. Of course, she was not alone in her responsibilities (see _Chapter 7: A Queen's Court_ ), but her fingerprints can be found on nearly all of the major policy decisions of the early Second Northern Kingdom.

Rhaenys Targaryen never had a formal coronation. As her husband was in Riverrun when he was famously declared King in the North by his bannermen, she likely heard the news secondhand. And yet, within the first year of her wearing the title of queen, she expanded trade through White Harbor, began the first drafts of the new Tax Code of 309, and repelled Ironborn incursions.

Her motivation to go south in the middle of the War of the Five Kings is unclear, but some historians have theorized it was related to the later infamous Bloody Banquet of Harrenhal, where Robb Stark was almost murdered by his own bannermen in violation of guest right. It was there that Rhaenys received a long scar that cut across the left side of her face, marking her for life. Second-hand accounts report that she never hid her scar, and in fact, in the only portrait the Northern royal family ever commissioned (done by prominent Myrish painter Laeon Rukele), her scar is prominently featured.

Little more than a year after the supposed end of the War of the Five Kings, Daenerys Targaryen landed on Dragonstone, three fully grown dragons at her back. And so, Rhaenys was back in the South, this time as a diplomat hoping to curry the favor of her long-lost aunt.

Not much is known about the negotiations that occurred at Dragonstone. What is known is this: two queens landed there, and two queens departed. Daenerys I acknowledged the independence of all lands north of the God's Eye and east of the Mountains of the Moon, and upon her coronation six months later, Westeros was officially divided into the Kingdom of the North and the Six Kingdoms of the South. Perhaps the Dragon Queen was swayed by the presence of her last remaining family to share Westeros. Perhaps she was simply not interested in waging war on the frozen North. Perhaps Rhaenys threatened to press her own claim to the Iron Throne. Historians have presented a dozen different theories on that meeting, all of which are plausible.

Princess Lyarra Stark was born less than a year after the treaty with the south. Rhaenys came close to dying in the birthing bed, and it was unlikely that she would ever bear another child. This left the kingdom in the uncomfortable position of a woman standing to inherit the throne, a situation that had never occurred in eight thousand years of history. Many lords were of the opinion that one of King Robb's brothers should be named heir, a declaration with no small amount of precedent. Yet despite all advice, the king named a six month-old Lyarra the Princess Heir, causing an uproar among the Northern lords.

It is often taken as a given that it was Rhaenys who convinced him to name their daughter his heir, citing Dornish absolute primogeniture as precedent for such a move. By all accounts, Robb and Rhaenys were a happy couple, as devoted as any two people could be. No rumors of infidelity remain from either of them, and Rhaenys's letters mention her husband fondly. Be that as it may, it is important to note the North under the rule of Robb and Rhaenys underwent a huge amount of social change, and Lyarra was not the only woman to achieve great things. Sansa Stark served as ambassador to the South for many years during her brother's reign, considered a woman of impeccable manners and shrewd intellect. Arya Stark became a near-mythological figure, her adventures as a warrior and explorer attaining nearly the same level of prominence in the North as those of Brandon the Builder's. Wynafryd Manderly served as de facto Mistress of Coin upon her grandfather's death, and Dacey Mormont, a close friend of the Starks, was a renowned warrior. And perhaps most scandalously, there was Sarella Sand, the first widely known female maester and Rhaenys's own cousin, whose gender was an open secret in the North, yet was somehow never acknowledged by the Citadel.

Regardless of how Lyarra Stark became heir to the North, it caused quite a bit of friction among the lords, and it was only the arrival of the Long Night that distracted them from their complaints. It was this near-cataclysmic event that solidified Robb Stark's place among the so-called fathers of the North, but Rhaenys's contribution again, cannot be ignored. It was she who remained in Winterfell, welcoming refugees, organizing food rations, and writing south to negotiate for aid. The men and women who kept the Others at bay through sword and fire are rightfully recognized for it, but equally important were those who kept the hearths burning, kept the people clothed and fed, and ensured that at the end of the end of days, there would be somewhere to return home to.

The rest of their reign was quite peaceful compared to the violent early years. Many rulers who have found victory in battle have failed in peacetime, but Robb and Rhaenys persevered. The recovery from the Long Night was slow but sure. Roads and holdfasts were rebuilt. The free folk were settled in the New Gift and in the keeps of the now-defunct Night's Watch. The Riverlands, burned beyond measure during the War of the Five Kings, slowly returned to their previous fruitful bounty.

Though House Stark, as the oldest of Westeros's Great Houses, has always been powerful, the period of 300-350 saw an exponential increase in its dynastic power within the North. Moat Cailin was granted to Rickon Stark, the youngest of the king's siblings, and began restorations. Sansa Stark was named Lady of the Snowfort (known as the Dreadfort until the fall of House Bolton), and though she never married, the nephew she chose as heir would begin the line of House Snowstark. Brandon Stark, whose life has become semi-shrouded in myth and legend, married Meera Reed and became Lord Consort of Greywater Watch. In the Riverlands, House Tully was similarly favored by the granting of Harrenhal (renamed to the Blackfish Halls) to Ser Brynden Tully, great-uncle to the king.

This expansion of dynastic power led to an increased centralization of the kingdom's politics and finances. Rhaenys was the primary architect of the new Tax Code of 309, which funneled much-needed gold into Winterfell's coffers. Much of this new income was redirected to expand or improve upon the North's infrastructure. Simple actions like building a new road along the west coast had huge impacts in the coming centuries, allowing for the urbanization and development of the fifth and sixth centuries. A series of deals with House Manderly gave the North its first standing navy since Brandon the Burner, although this increase in the Manderlys' political capital would become an issue of contention in the coming century. Towards the tail-end of the Robb I's reign, a new western navy in Seagard began construction.

Culturally, the North underwent much transformation. Dornish fashion made its impact upon Northern clothing, attributed to Rhaenys's Dornish influence. The court at Winterfell, historically small, became a much bigger hub with the sponsorship of arts and scholars. Rhaenys often paid from her own purse to send promising prospects to study at the Citadel or at Essosi schools. Though the Winterfell court would never be as lavish as its southron counterpart, it became an important center of thought and scholarship that would pave the way for important reforms, such as the switch to the four-field rotation system, and even the advent of legal divorce under Lyarra I. It would be this court that would champion religious revivalism under Brandon XXIX, absolute primogeniture under Edrick V, and more. Centralized government has always been difficult in territories the size of the North, but here, the seeds for it were planted early on.

And at the center of it all were the Starks of Winterfell, ruled by the beloved Young Wolf and the Dornish Dragon.

Rhaenys Targaryen's life is full of bits of historical irony. Dorne killed the first Rhaenys and resisted bending the knee for over a hundred years, yet raised her as its princess. Her marriage was arranged to prevent rebellions in the Targaryen name, but instead the North rebelled in her husband's name. After three centuries of kneeling, the first Queen in the North would be descended from the very same man who had once put the North on its knees. And in the last, great twist of irony, it was this foreign, southron princess that would guarantee the North's successful independence from the very same throne her grandfather had once sat on.

Rhaenys died at the age of sixty eight, a few years after the death of Robb I. Her daughter, the now Queen Lyarra, broke millennia of Northern tradition by having her interred in the crypts beneath Winterfell, erecting a statue of Rhaenys to stand beside Robb. She had been more than a consort, more than a wife. She had been a king's equal, a kingdom's hand, a dynasty's forgotten daughter. People might have forgotten her, but history has not. 

 

\--

Flint, Jeyne. _Rhaenys of the North_ _: The Life and Times_. Vol. 1, White Harbor Publishing, 917 AC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Listen. I love historiography so much and it's a damn shame it isn't discussed in the asoiaf fandom more okay. Here's some other random bits of background:
> 
> \- Women are eventually allowed to become maesters, and in modern Westeros, maester becomes a title like doctor. So Maester Jeyne Flint is basically a historian with a PhD.
> 
> \- During Westeros's equivalent of second-wave feminism, a lot more scholarly interest is put into the queen consorts of historical figures and other women of the court. Maester Jeyne Flint is one of the early figures leading this.
> 
> \- Rhaenys stores a lot of her correspondence (except for anything containing sensitive information), which a lot of historians appreciate.
> 
> \- It's Sansa, not Rhaenys, who actually incorporates Dornish styles into Northern fashion. Rhaenys just wears what Sansa gives her and accidentally starts some new trends among Northern ladies.
> 
> \- Lyarra, Robb and Rhaenys's daughter, becomes one of the great leaders of the North and leads them through the Northern Golden Age.


	2. things you said when you thought i was asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys’s chest rises and falls with deep, steady breaths. They are alive, he reminds himself, and perhaps for now, that is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally prompted on tumblr as a minific [here](https://thundersnowstorm.tumblr.com/post/184148434176/12-or-16-for-robb-x-rhaenys).
> 
> Set at some point after the attempted Bolton coup at Harrenhal but before the end of the War of the Five Kings.
> 
> _Prompt: things you said when you thought I was asleep_

Asleep, she seems younger than her one-and-twenty years, dark curls partially obscuring her face. Her long eyelashes cast little half-moon shadows upon her cheeks. That little wrinkle of concentration she gets between her eyebrows is smoothed out and for once, Rhaenys looks almost peaceful.

Robb perches on the edge of the camp cot, Grey Wind settling at his feet. He brushes the mussed hair away from her face. She doesn’t stir. It is late, far later than he has any right to be awake, but Greatjon had wished to speak about battle tactics and plans for winter and there was always something more to discuss. Rhaenys had gone to bed once the war council had dismissed, eyes glossy with exhaustion by the end of it.

He ought to go to sleep too but he’s so far past tired that sleep somehow feels impossible. And it has truly been an awful day, the battle earlier having become longer and bloodier than expected.

“I don’t know how I could do this without you,” he says, and his voice is barely even a whisper. “Gods, I’m still not sure how we’re not both dead at Lannister swords, or Bolton swords, or even simply from pure exhaustion. But without you -” He shakes his head to dispel the ghosts lodged within. “You’re my anchor. Keep me from drifting off into grief and rage. And gods, you shouldn’t have to do all this, shouldn’t have to shoulder the burdens of being queen, but the North would be lost without you.” He swallows, hard. There is a scar, silver in the moonlight, tracing a path down her cheek, its twin carving down his ribs, and it is a permanent reminder of how close they have come to death.

Rhaenys’s chest rises and falls with deep, steady breaths. They are alive, he reminds himself, and perhaps for now, that is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Robb x Rhaenys from Robb's perspective was an interesting exercise, I might do some more of it in the future.


	3. who is the wolf and who is the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Warg. Skinchanger." Rhaenys ran her fingers down the side of his face, trying to find some wolfish resemblance in him, but Robb was all blue eyes and broad features. Nothing like the wolf-headed corpse from her dreams, a thought she pushed away as soon as it came. No, this Robb was as alive and as human as they came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to include Robb being a warg in _crownless_ but I never found anywhere good to fit it in, so here it is. This takes place shortly after Robb and Rhaenys return to Winterfell from the Wall.

Blood slid between her fingers, grittier than paint, thicker than water. Rhaenys smelled the corpses before she saw them, empty-eyed with skin the color of curdled milk, slumped over their plates with arrows sprouting from their backs like flowers. Wine and rotted flesh mixed into a thick perfume that made her want to retch. A crow shrieked, diving down at one of the bodies to peck at its eyes.  

It was Catelyn, she realized with a start, and her mouth tried to form an apology, but her lips wouldn't move. She looked around in panic, but familiar faces were all she could see now in the corpses - Mother and Aegon, Oberyn and Doran, Ellaria and Nymeria, Bran and Rickon, Theon and Dacey, Wynafryd and Jorelle, on and on until there was no one left to see dead.

And above them all, sitting on the dais and holding a pig's leg as a scepter, sat a man with a grey wolf's head sewn onto his shoulders, a crown of iron swords upon his brow. The king of the dead presided over his court of corpses, while his bride could only stand there, unable to even scream.

A figure moved, bloody and dark, and Rhaenys tried to scramble away. Somehow, her feet remained rooted to the floor. Roose Bolton was unmistakable, with corpse-pale eyes deader than anything in this hall, the flayed standard draped over his shoulders. He held a dagger - _her_ dagger - in one hand, and when it thrust into her stomach, carving through flesh like soft fruit, his lips pulled back into the facsimile of a smile.

"The Lannisters send their regards."

Rhaenys was stumbling away from the bed before she could even process the nightmare, lungs gasping noisily for breath. The stone floor was frigid against her bare feet, but she hardly noticed.

 _I'm in Winterfell, Winterfell not that cursed hall, never again,_ she told herself, repeating the words in her mind like a mantra. She dug her fingernails into her palms, the sharp pain there more real than the knife in her belly had ever felt. The night air raised goosebumps on her arms, the silk of her nightshift brushing against her skin like a whisper. Outside the window, she could see the pale tendrils of dawn beginning to creep across the sky, its color lightened  from the pitch black of night to a deep blue.

As her muscles began to unclench, her heart rate began to slow at last its panicky, rabbit-fast beat. She brushed her hand across her forehead, wiping away the stray sweat. It had been nothing more than a silly dream, she reminded herself, brought on by the horrid event and latent guilt. Still, she couldn't help herself from approaching Robb's sleeping form to check on him, to quiet the ridiculous panic at the back of her mind.

His chest rose and fell in even breaths, his russet curls mussed against the pillow. But there was something off about his sleeping form, something beyond her mind playing even more tricks on her. She frowned and looked closer.

The pre-dawn light just barely reflected against his eyes, open wide and white as bone.

Rhaenys blinked twice, then stepped back for good measure. This was just some other dream, she told herself, but when she pinched her arm, nothing changed.

"Robb," she said, voice low. Then again, louder. "Robb?" No response. She tapped his shoulder, then shook it. Hard. For all that he kept breathing steadily, Robb might as well have been dead.

Rhaenys stepped back, her thoughts jumping in a dozen directions at once. Logic fought with old bedtime stories fought with simple disbelief. The panic from earlier was gone, replaced by a bizarre sense of bafflement. She should get the maester perhaps - but was there a maester in Westeros who would recognize this? Maybe a septon? But if Robb was Northron would a septon's prayer even help, and could that be why -

Robb's eyes blinked and when they opened again, the blank white had been replaced with his pupils, blue as the noon sky.

"Rhaenys?" he asked, voice thick with sleep. "Is everything alright?"

"I think I ought to be asking you that question," she said slowly.

"What?" Robb propped himself up onto his elbows.

"Were you dreaming something? Did you see something?"

"Rhaenys, love, what are you talking about?"

"I woke up, and when I looked at you, your eyes were wide open and white. You didn't respond when I tried to wake you." With Robb awake, the night's silence shattered, her previous calm had begun to give way to an edge of panic.

Robb's throat bobbed as he swallowed, taking this information in. "I - that doesn't make any sense."

"I know. So tell me, did you see anything, dream anything?"

His brow furrowed. "Where is Grey Wind?"

Confused, she said, "Out hunting, I imagine, why?"

Robb swung his legs over the side of the bed, moving to face her, though his eyes didn't quite meet hers. "I think - I dreamed I was running through the woods. Faster than I've ever run. There was a doe in front of me, trying to get away, but I caught her with my teeth and tore out her throat." His fingers went to his mouth, the ghost of the meal still on his lips.

The memory of a children's story, fuzzy around the edges, began to form in her mind. "So what, you're saying you're a skinchanger, like the ones from the tales?" Rhaenys didn't quite believe the words coming out of her mouth.

"I didn't say that, you said that."

"You might as well have said that. I spent a year with Old Nan and her stories, and that's exactly how she described warging. Men slipping into the skins of their animal companions, their minds going far while their body stays behind." Rhaenys swallowed. "Magic."

"They're just dreams," he said, but even Robb didn't sound convinced.

"And Grey Wind is just a very large dog."

Robb's eyes flicked up to meet hers. "You seem to be taking this, well, better than I'd expect."

"What, for a southroner you mean?" Rhaenys scoffed. "There are mythical beings rallying their forces on the other side of the Wall, ready to march south and slaughter us all. This is rather mild in comparison."

Robb reached for her hands, pulling her closer until their knees were touching. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Shove down what you feel in exchange for a reaction you feel is more convenient. You're allowed to lose your composure, you know."

Rhaenys swallowed. "Well I rather think your reaction is more important in this case. You seem - reluctant, but unsurprised."

"I've been having wolf dreams for months." Robb shrugged. "I tried not to think too hard about them, not when it made sleeping through the night that much easier. I think somewhere at the back of my mind I always knew what the dreams really were."

"Warg. Skinchanger." Rhaenys ran her fingers down the side of his face, trying to find some wolfish resemblance in him, but Robb was all blue eyes and broad features. Nothing like the wolf-headed corpse from her dreams, a thought she pushed away as soon as it came. No, this Robb was as alive and as human as they came. "Where is Grey Wind now?"

"In the woods to the northeast, running along the river," he said, not needing even to pause to think about it.

"The septons have always preached against the savage Northern magics of myth," she mused, but her touch was soft against his skin. "But our vows are of a godswood, not of a sept. Lady Catelyn - " Robb's jaw clenched. "Lady Catelyn believed Grey Wind and the other direwolves were sent here to protect you by the gods of old. I don't know if I agree, but I cannot deny that Grey Wind has kept you safe. He's a part of you. You asked for a reaction, I suppose this is mine. I married a lord, I married a king, and now, I seem to have married a warg." She shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"Aye," agreed Robb, voice rough. "As have worse things." He touched the spot on her jawline where her scar began.

"Just don't scare me like that again," she whispered, and pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

Rhaenys wasn't sure to what specifically she was referring to.


End file.
